


Walking Each Other Home

by thequidditchpitch_archivist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, Explicit Language, Post-War, Romance, The Quidditch Pitch: Eternity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-06-15
Updated: 2006-06-15
Packaged: 2018-10-26 15:22:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10789365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thequidditchpitch_archivist/pseuds/thequidditchpitch_archivist
Summary: The map of the human heart- challenging terrain for an inexperienced cartographer. Especially so if it's Draco in denial, and Ron Weasley is involved. Intermediary story in theMagic Immunityuniverse, from Draco's POV.





	Walking Each Other Home

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Annie, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Quidditch Pitch](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Quidditch_Pitch), which went offline in 2015 when the hosting expired, at a time I was not able to renew it. I contacted Open Doors, hoping to preserve the archive using an old backup, and began importing these works as an Open Doors-approved project in April 2017. Open Doors e-mailed all authors about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [The Quidditch Pitch collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/thequidditchpitch/profile).

  
Author's notes:

Situated before and after "All That I'm Good for Is You." Mentions of adult activity, but somehow, none actually happened in this. 

Meant to be a challenge for the Song Ficathon, but it ended up being a combination of 3 quotes:

Our greatest glory consists not in never falling, but in rising every time we fall. (Confucius)

  
I wanted freedom/ but I'm restricted/ I tried to give you up/ but I'm addicted (Time Is Running Out, Muse)

  
I love that you get cold when it is 71 degrees out. I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order a sandwich. I love that you get a little crinkle in your nose when you're looking at me like I'm nuts. I love that after I spend day with you, I can still smell your perfume on my clothes. And I love that you are the last person I want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'm lonely, and it's not because it's New Year's Eve. I came here tonight because when you realize you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, you want the rest of your life to start as soon as possible. (When Harry Met Sally)   


* * *

A flash of red across the club caught Draco's eye. He allowed his gaze surreptitiously to meander to its source. It was a ginger haired man, but his looks were nowhere near as striking as those of the extraordinary, enthusiastically passionate red haired man Draco had slept with the night before. Apparently all it took these days for him to think about Ron was seeing anybody with red hair. Draco sighed into his gimlet. He was pathetic. And yet— it brought Draco no small sense of smug satisfaction to remember the endearing look of undisguised surprise on Ron's face he'd seen last night. Draco had wrung an apparently mind-blowing orgasm out of his fiery, but delightfully inexperienced lover. They'd been together a little over three months, and Ron hadn't balked when Draco decided to introduce Ron to the joys of anal beads. While Ron was willing for Draco to use some of his toys, he wasn't ready or necessarily interested in letting Draco penetrate him personally. Draco didn't mind; with Ron especially out of his recent handful of partners, Draco reveled in being properly ploughed. In fact, at times he'd had to encourage Ron to use more abandon. It wasn't as though he was going to break Draco.

"Merlin, Draco, you're in another world!" Draco's cousin Cassandra snapped her fingers in front of his face in a showy gesture.

"Yeah, you've been preoccupied lately," Nadine echoed.

"I most certainly have not," Draco said haughtily. "You're the one who's been so caught up in your own drama with that Colin fellow that you nearly sent my Tidewater Pearls analysis to Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes and vice versa." He scowled half-heartedly over his glass.

"Sorry."

"Draco, don't talk work! We're out to have fun," Cassandra chided him, her American accent as distinctive as her distantly-related Malfoysian aristocratic looks. "With the dreamy look you just had on your face, you're at least having fun in your head." She arched a perfectly-groomed black eyebrow. "You haven't dished yet on who you're shagging these days. Or are you like me, in an inexcusably long dry period?"

"I'm pretty sure he's shagging somebody," Nadine said coyly, a small smile on her lips.

Draco regretted having introduced his personal assistant to his cousin, however long ago it was that Cassandra had taken to coming to visit regularly. The two had, as he'd suspected, gotten along swimmingly, but he didn't care for discussing his personal life in front of Nadine. With Cassandra he could share every luscious detail, but he didn't work with her, and usually she lived in another part of the world.

"My sex life, as fascinating as it may be, is not up for discussion."

"You're no fun," Cassandra pouted.

"On the contrary," Draco said, pressing his tongue against the back of his front teeth. "I'm _very_ fun. And while in fact there is someone who would currently attest to that, I'm not mentioning names."

"I knew it!" Nadine clapped her hands together with glee. "I've heard you humming on occasion. Very quiet, mind," she clarified as Draco accosted her with a glare.

"Good for you." Cassandra took a sip of her drink. "Doesn't matter who it is as long as you're being treated well."

An all-too-vivid image of Ron's mouth surrounding his cock leapt to mind. "Most definitely."

"Sounds serious." Nadine finished her drink. "Ooooh! I love this song!" she enthused. "I'm going to go dance. Anybody else?"

"Sure." Cassandra pushed away from the table.

"Actually, I think I'll head home." Draco pulled out a dragonskin money holder and began figuring his part of the tab.

"Boo, hiss," Cassandra said, sticking out her bright pink tongue. "We'll talk later."

"Bye Draco!" Nadine called from over her shoulder.

Draco waved goodbye, gathering his coat before leaving the club. Normally he would've loved to stay and dance. In the past, 'normally' would also have included finding a hot body, doing a quick seduction, and having a night of strings-free, athletic fucking. Now, however, that was out of the question. Or was it? He and Ron hadn't said they were exclusive. They didn't talk about their status at all, for which Draco was grateful. Extended relationships were not his strong suit. He was still engrossed in those thoughts as he Apparated to his house in London. It felt — empty. Or anticipatory, as though even his residence was waiting for Ron to appear. Draco frowned. This was not supposed to be serious. He didn't _do_ serious.

Going into the kitchen, Draco vacillated between making tea or having a brandy. Shrugging, he decided on both. A quick wand flick later, the burner under his kettle was lit. What _was_ Ron to him? Another torrent of visions came to him, mostly erotic in nature; Ron's kisses, hot and needy; the welcome burn in Draco's body when Ron pushed inside him; Ron's undisguised happiness each time they met and the wistful, careful way he said goodbye, the regret at parting plainly expressed on his face.

That drew him up short. Ron really fancied him, more than just the sex. The very satisfying, frequent sex. They'd been together every weekend and no few weeknights for several months, and it suddenly occurred to Draco that this didn't bother him nearly as much as it should.

"My boyfriend, Ron Weasley," Draco said aloud, just to sample the words. Not distasteful, but certainly not familiar. Like having pickled ginger spooned into your mouth when expecting mashed potatoes. The set of words seemed innocuous enough as he said them again, but the implication made him uncomfortable. He poured the brandy and sat at the table, mulling each word in turn. **My.** Of course he was. Draco didn't belong to anyone. **Boyfriend.** Not a word that Draco had used very often; it seemed a rather stupid descriptor, but there weren't many other options. It implied exclusivity. Did he feel like sticking to a diet of pure Ron? **Ron Weasley.** He sighed. He was very fond of their time spent together, especially in various states of undress.

_"You like talking with him, too,"_ an inner voice reminded him. _"Despite his background, he's not after your money. And he's obviously totally smitten with you."_

"Which is precisely why I need to spend some time away from him," Draco said aloud as the kettle began to boil. "Next he'll be sending hearts and flowers and all that rot." He prepared his tea, ignoring the curdling sensation in his stomach as he resolved to himself not to be available to Ron for a little while. Grudgingly he acknowledged he'd never felt the warm, comforting feelings he experienced around Ron for anyone else before. Surely it wasn't good for him; Draco wasn't the boyfriend type. Most importantly, he was very, very uncomfortable with the idea of needing someone, of having fallen so far that he couldn't easily get back out. He'd just not be available for a while and see what happened. He was used to walking his path alone.

* * * * *

"Oh. Well, maybe next Thursday? I have a bit of an event, actually."

Ron looked surprisingly nervous, his face radiant in Draco's fireplace.

"What's that?" Draco asked. He was overly eager, considering he'd just informed Ron that he was swamped with work and unable to meet up at any point over the weekend. This, of course, was rubbish.

"Work. I'm getting an award. Superlative Class for Outstanding Healing. It's a really high level of achievement."

"Ron, that's brilliant. After what you did for me, especially seeing as it was outside of St. Mungo's, you certainly deserve it. Circe's tits, I should have given you my own award."

Ron seemed to mull over his words before replying. "I'd say that you did," he said with a tender smile that made Draco want to gnash his teeth, find a Time Turner, and take back his comments about being unavailable.

"You flatter me," Draco drawled, trying to infuse his voice with just a hint of its childhood malice. _"Don't be an arsehole!"_ his inner voice seethed.

"No, it's just true. Do you think you could come to the ceremony? It shouldn't be too awful, and we can go out afterwards."

"Let me say tentatively yes. If I can't, I'll be sure to let you know." Merlin, Draco did not want to be having this discussion. This was a public event; Ron's parents might even be there. Had Ron told them — Merlin forbid — that they were a couple? It had quite honestly never occurred to Draco that most of Ron's family had survived the War. He couldn't begin to imagine what they would think if he showed up, metaphorically speaking, on Ron's arm.

"Sounds good." Ron looked a little disappointed, but seemed to take it in stride. "Sorry I won't see you over the weekend. If you need a break, just owl me."

"Thanks. I'll talk to you soon."

"Bye." Ron's face disappeared, leaving Draco sitting on the cold hearth.

This was unacceptable. Draco simply wasn't used to having warring voices in his head, one berating him and another reminding him of how socially catastrophic it would be, standing in judgment before a tribe of Weasleys.

Wait just a bloody minute; no Weasley had better judge him. They should be grateful Draco had become infatuated with Ron. Draco had social capital. Draco had capital, period. He didn't need to work, of course— but he got dreadfully bored when he didn't. He could take Ron to all sorts of exotic locales, show him cities and art and dine on succulent dishes no Weasley had ever experienced…

…all after Draco got over him, that was, or at least they had an understanding. As long as they continued to enjoy each other's company and the sex was satisfying and they didn't call each other boyfriend… well, that could be okay. They could be lovers. Torrid, passionate lovers.

"Fuck," he swore.

In his ever-randy and imaginative mind's eye, he'd Apparated Ron to Italy, paraded him around in the briefest of swimming togs — and a strong sunblock charm — and was fellating Ron's gorgeous shaft on a hotel balcony. "Now I'll be stuck wanking when I could've had the real thing."

He actually did have some reports to work on, though they could certainly wait until tomorrow. He'd not indulged in time pleasuring himself as much as he had in the past; these days he didn't need to. Tonight, however, it would be a date with his dust-gathering porn collection and his hand. Rest assured his sheets would bear scorch marks when he and Ron did get together again, even if he had to deal with the Weasleys Senior first.

* * * * *

As it turned out, Draco did indeed have a mostly civil showdown with Arthur and Molly. Ron hadn't told them anything about the man he was seeing, and, in fact, didn't say as such throughout the awards ceremony. Draco was impressed at their ability to ignore the fact that Ron put his arm around Draco's shoulder as they sat; it was not unlike refusing to comment on a tap-dancing hippogriff right in front of them. Miraculously, Ron didn't bring it up later, either. Then again, Draco kept him rather occupied for most of the evening.

The next day Draco spent an inordinate amount of time making plans for Saturday: a morning around London with shopping (for him), pick-up Quidditch with an enthusiastic albeit not terribly talented club team in the afternoon (for Ron), and an evening that would involve a blindfold and a specially formulated edible oil from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' adult line. Of all the Weasleys save Ron, Draco had the most respect for George. It was unfortunate as he was sure the now-solo twin couldn't stand him.

And then, Ron sent him an owl.

__

Dear Draco,  
  
Just realised I'd not told you I've got to go off for a fortnight's conference. It's been on my calendar for ages, but I guess I didn't know what to say — well, I didn't want to assume anything. But it would be quite rude to leave town for two weeks and not tell you. I'll be stuck in lectures and refresher courses, eating institutional food in Aberystwyth. You hadn't said anything about your own plans, so I hope I've not accidentally mucked things up.  
  
I'll definitely miss you.  
  
I'll drop by your London place when I get back. If there's an emergency, please owl me.  
  
Yours,  
  
Ron


__

Draco was too disheartened to tell his inner voice to piss off when it said, _"You deserved that."_

* * * * *

It was still two days before Ron was scheduled to return when Draco found himself prostrate before his neediness, woeful and lonely. And willing to admit it.

"About time," Cassandra said, casting a sympathetic smile as she emitted a long stream of cigarette smoke. "It's okay to miss somebody, you know."

"No, it's not," Draco sulked, drinking his gimlet. "I'm not allowed. Can't need. Can't want. Can't long for somebody. It just doesn't work that way for a Malfoy. I'm supposed to be impervious to that sentimental tripe."

Cassandra shook her head, her black hair streaming over her shoulders in a manner eerily reminiscent of Lucius's. "He must be really something, whoever he is. Quidditch player? Exotic dancer? Banker?" she leered.

"He's a classmate of mine from Hogwarts, and I used to hate him. I can't tell you how much." With a gentleness Draco showed only a very few people, he began to list Ron's attributes. "He's a Healer, and a fucking good one. When I got hit with that _Persona immunata_ hex of Irvinia's, he's the one who cured me. For reasons I can't fathom, his company doesn't grate my nerves after an hour, like nearly everyone else in the world, present company excepted."

Cassandra had the grace not to comment, merely nodding before Draco continued.

"He smells good. He tastes even better. He gives back as much as I dish out, and likes me anyway. He stands up for himself. He's not intimidated by me, at all. I've about gone mad since we haven't shagged; he's—"

"Too much information," Cassandra interrupted glass at her lips. "Not in front of She Who Is Still Disgustingly Celibate."

"I wasn't going to be lewd," Draco admonished, though he was comfortable enough with his cousin to tell all, it was true. "Well, maybe. I'm going to be honest. I've fucked a lot of people, maybe too many, if that's even possible. He's just different, and not in a bizarrely pervy way. This will sound ridiculously clichéd, but I'm comfortable with him and miss his body, but not just that. The sex is great, and I hope it always is." He paused and took a sip of his drink. "We seem like companions, like I'd really miss him if he weren't around. Like we're headed somewhere, together." Draco looked balefully at Cassandra. "I'm hopeless. This isn't me, this isn't Draco, not supposed to happen, not with him."

She gave him a long, calculated look.

"Think it's too late. I'd consider myself lucky and call it a day." She took a drag on her cigarette. "Now go get busy, loverboy, and find someone like that for me."

* * * * *

On the occasion of their five month anniversary, Draco got his wish and whisked Ron away to a sun and sex drenched holiday — to the Canary Islands, however, not Italy. Ironically, it was only after they'd made it to the eight month mark that they had their first big fight. By now they had a Friday night ritual nearly carved in stone; Ron picked up dinner and brought it to his flat in Glasgow and Draco joined him. Draco was becoming ever more the culinary enthusiast and cooked the rest of the weekend, but he knew Ron appreciated having control over the Friday night meal. Usually they'd watch a movie, either Muggle or Wizard; oftentimes Draco couldn't tell the difference. This was followed by the Friday night shag. Like so many things Draco had discovered about himself since seeing Ron, he was surprised at how soothing the routine was. He was even more shocked because he wanted to ask Ron to make it semi-permanent.

Draco was lying down, relaxing in a pleasantly sated afterglow. He ran his fingers gently through Ron's wiry pubic hair when he made what he thought was a perfectly reasonable request.

"I'd like to invite your parents over for dinner," he said, his voice huskier than usual as Ron had inspired him to be rather vocal.

"You would?" Ron shifted to be able to look down at Draco.

"Yes." Draco nodded thoughtfully and placed a kiss on Ron's chest. "I'd like to have them at my place. Not the Manor, I think that'd be a bit much. But the weather's nice enough, we could eat outside. What do you think they'd like? I've made a few lamb dishes you scarfed down. Maybe—"

"Why are you suggesting this?"

Draco looked up in surprise, hand still possessively at Ron's groin. "Well it's certainly not to poison them."

Ron frowned before bafflement settled in his expression. "Not funny. Really. What are you on about?"

"Why do I have to be on about anything?" The inner dragon that manifested itself as Draco's anger began puffing smoke. "Maybe I just thought that as I've not seen them since your event at St. Mungo's and you and I are practically living together, that perhaps I could make an overture to show I mean well."

Ron glowered, thunderstruck. "Implying that you assume my parents think you're just using me now and have been for months? Merlin!" he yelled. "Nice to know your true opinion of them. I'll have you know they're glad I'm with you."

"Oh really?" Draco sneered, scooting off of Ron to sit across from him, arms crossed over his chest. The wrath was simmering, ready to burst out in scalding fury. It was a feeling Ron had invoked so easily when they were young, but not once since they'd become reacquainted— until now. "Can you honestly sit there and tell me your parents are genuinely pleased and supportive of you having me as your lover?"

"I thought we were boyfriends!" Ron exclaimed, hurt and anger battling for dominance in his demeanour. "You said you loved me," he said in a low, threatening voice. "At least you said so one time."

"I do," Draco snarled, "which is why I find it fucking unbelievable that you're so fucking suspicious of me wanting to cook for your parents. Forget it." He hurled himself off of the bed, fingers shaking with rage as he pulled on his clothes in undignified jerky motions.

"What do you think you're doing?" Ron bellowed, getting off the bed. Naked and hands clenched into fists, he stormed over to Draco.

"Leaving," Draco said, grinding the word through clenched teeth. He pulled a button through his shirt with such vitriol it popped off and flew against the wall. "All I wanted to do was have your parents to dinner, try and get it across to them that I really do care about you." He stood to full height, glaring into Ron's ire-flushed face. "You look straight into my eyes and tell me that Molly and Arthur Weasley don't think you're out of your fucking mind to be with me."

Ron stared back. The intensity in his blue eyes would otherwise have been alarming, but Draco was so furious he didn't care. "They may not understand, but they trust me," Ron said.

"So they DO question our relationship!" Draco said in dark triumph. The truth of it slashed open wounds and suspicions he'd tried so carefully to hide away, not that he was going to let Ron know about them.

"I've tried to explain!" Ron said, panic beginning to creep into his raspy voice. "It's not like I'm twelve. I can make my own decisions, and they don't have to like them. Why are you suddenly so worried about what they think?" He lifted a hand as though to place it on Draco's arm but seeing the warning daggers Draco knew his gaze held, thought better of it.

Draco held his head up, chin jutting out. "On a very basic level, I don't care if they say little prayers to their ancestors every night, hoping that I'm still doing Dark Magic and that I hex myself into a thousand little bits. But frankly Ron, I'd thought we should live together." He imposed as impassive an expression as he could, not reacting to Ron's deep breath and blanching face. _"Fuck, obviously that's not going over well,"_ he thought. "If we were going to, or were before I'd said anything, since this appears not to be an idea that has any appeal to you, I'd—"

"I didn't think you'd ever want that," Ron interrupted in a rush, shaking his head. "I mean, it's one thing to go on a short holiday, but you've never said anything—"

"I said something to you I'd only ever said to my parents," Draco said, very pleased that there were no quavers in his voice. "And Severus."

"You had a thing… with Snape?" Ron looked ready to faint.

"No, you idiot. He saved my life, perhaps you remember?" Draco rolled his eyes and let his breath out with a huff. "I assure you that if we'd moved in together he would've had all sorts of commentary about my choice of partner."

"If we had. You've already changed your mind?" Ron said, resembling nothing so much as a whipped dog. "But I didn't even get a chance to say yes."

Draco scrutinised Ron's face. It wasn't as though he needed to; unlike himself, Ron hadn't hidden an emotion in his life, or certainly didn't seem capable of it. Misery or something unpleasantly similar was rolling through the anger that had been there moments ago. "You would've said yes?"

Ron nodded. "Can I tell you something?" he said cautiously, perhaps recognising as keenly as Draco did how thin the peace was that stretched between them.

"Sure." Refusing to look down, emotionally Draco stepped onto the tightrope connecting them.

"There was somebody, once."

"I don't know that now's the time to tell me that kind of story."

"No, it's not like that. He never knew. And I never told him. I mean, there've been a few other blokes I've been with, but nothing that meant very much. I just couldn't get into them like I have with you. It's hard to explain."

Draco balanced carefully. "This other person. Are you still interested? Because I don't share."

"No." The word was decisive, and Ron crumpled somewhat after saying it. "Will you stay? Please don't go like this. No one's ever told me they loved me. Not flat out. Even if it was during sex."

He wobbled violently on the rope. Draco pressed his fingers into his palms tightly enough to leave crescent marks. "Given that it was said in the proverbial throes of passion, you think I didn't mean it?" He could feel the flush at his throat, the bruising anger beginning to hammer to be released.

"No, of course not." Ron held both hands just above Draco's shoulders, awaiting permission. Draco didn't grant it, instead boring into Ron's eyes, daring him to say one wrong word that would send Draco tumbling back into his solitary abyss.

"Draco," Ron beseeched, "I'm cheerful being around you, even when I know you're bored at a Cannons' match, or I'm stuck with you in the markets for hours. It's like a bit of colour goes out of everything when we're not together. Like I'd been lost, y'know, wandering and wandering and well, what do you know but there's a bloody sign that says 'feels better than being at home' and it points to you."

Draco raised an eyebrow and Ron's large, sweaty palms lowered down. "I didn't expect this," Ron went on, "Merlin knows, but I love you, too. I can't think of anything better than being together every night, putting my stuff with yours."

"I'd noticed you'd been quite careful not to leave anything. Ever."

Ron's wounded look caught Draco by surprise. "I thought it would bother you."

"I gave you your own toothbrush to keep at my place!" Draco exclaimed, flabbergasted. "Isn't that practically an invitation in and of itself?"

"Wouldn't know," Ron said, shrugging slowly. "Nobody's asked me to stay for very long."

Draco leaned forward, lips hovering ever so slightly away from Ron's. He savoured the heat of Ron's breath as some was caught, drawn into his own mouth as they breathed. In and out, the heated air became an alembic, distilling the world to the infinitesimal gap between them. Draco realised he'd gotten safely across to the other side.

"Stay with me."


End file.
